“First, I ask because I truly do not know.”
After the third Martial Tournament had ended, in the training grounds at midnight.
I watched Paejon training alone and asked,
“Are you by any chance a crazy bastard?”
“What, punk?”
Paejon, who had been holding a boulder the size of a house, looked at me. Rather than anger, his expression was filled with utter absurdity.
“So now you’ve gone and started cursing at your master, have you?”
“No, that’s not—”
The words left my mouth as I urgently swung my fist.
*Swoosh—!*
*Kwa-boom—!*
I pulverized the boulder that had been flying toward my face. My wrist throbbed.
Goddammit. That bastard had wrapped the boulder in qi before hurling it.
“Your expression is something else.”
“Do I look good?”
“Nothing bad about it. Didn’t I give you exactly what you wanted?”
“…*Sigh*…”
*‘Nothing bad’?* I looked at the rock fragments strewn across the ground and let out nothing but a sigh.
“My situation has become utterly irredeemable, though…?”
A mess.
There was no other way to describe it. It was truly a complete mess.
“Thanks to you, Elder, the Martial Tournament couldn’t even run its proper course.”
For the third main round onward, they had only prepared a single dueling platform. They had reinforced it to withstand ordinary blows without so much as a scratch, and even if it cracked or broke somewhat, they should have been able to repair it.
*‘How are they supposed to repair that?’*
There are limits to everything. If one cannot even recall its original shape, it can no longer be called repair.
*‘That’s not repair—that’s practically building a brand-new one.’*
Who could have known?
That a single martial artist would utterly demolish a dueling platform reinforced with ten-thousand-year cold iron.
I looked at Paejon with narrowed eyes.
*‘He called it Pacheon, didn’t he.’*
The Fifth Form of the Tuapcheonmu. Pacheon破天.
The martial art Paejon had used against Dowang in this tournament. It was a power I had never witnessed before.
*‘…Breaking Heaven.’*
A word unimaginably arrogant to serve as the name of a martial art.
But.
*‘I almost feel like he really could break it.’*
Having witnessed its might with my own eyes, I could hardly deny it. Its power alone had been enough to make my body tremble.
*‘What in the world was that destructive force?’*
The sight of Paejon unleashing Pacheon flickered before my eyes. A gray sphere of energy compressed and condensed to the point of excess; the devastation from its artificial detonation had been utterly immense.
*‘How did he control it?’*
What had that sensation been? Where had the flow of internal energy Paejon manifested directed itself—from where, to where?
*‘The source of the internal energy was, of course, the Tuapcheonmu.’*
He must have used the energy that originated from there.
*‘Then how was such a delicate application possible?’*
The essence of the Tuapcheonmu was “destruction.” Merely executing it inflicted pain upon its wielder, and its destructive power stemmed from rough, potent energy violent enough to cause such agony. Difficult to regulate, and even harder to control—it should have been such a martial art.
*‘Yet back then, Paejon had applied his energy with utter delicacy.’*
How could such a thing even be possible?
Enduring the pain was almost simple(?), but shaping and containing that volatile internal energy into a spherical form was a different story altogether.
Yet what had felt familiar even then—
*‘If I had to place it, it resembled the Yeomok.’*
The Yeomok, which added rotation to compression and condensation. The Guyeomhwaryungong was wild in its own right, but since it wasn’t as unmanageable as the Tuapcheonmu, such a feat had been feasible.
Conversely,
*‘while it might be possible with the Guyeomhwaryungong, it was an impossible undertaking with the Tuapcheonmu.’*
Yet Paejon had accomplished exactly that.
When I thought about it, it wasn’t that strange. It was only natural that Paejon could do what I could not.
*‘Because he is the Grandmaster.’*
A figure who creates martial arts from nothing and forges a path entirely on his own. While there are countless geniuses who learn martial arts and elevate their realms, those who create new martial arts based on them are exceedingly rare.
The Tuapcheonmu was passed down to a single successor. A martial art that had been created barely half a century ago, at most. And yet it was called a Divine Art alongside other techniques tempered over centuries.
Could such a thing even make sense?
*‘It shouldn’t. Yet that old man accomplished the impossible.’*
Artificial Bone Transformation achieved through the divine art.
A technique capable of naturally inducing the state of no-self.
He possessed not one, but two powers that would go down in history.
What kind of man was Paejon, the creator of such things?
*‘First things first—he’s not in his right mind.’*
Of that much, I was certain.
Anyway,
*‘The important thing is how to use the fifth form, so…’*
“Well, well. Who’s calling who a crazy bastard?”
“…!”
Right as I was racking my brain, I finally came to my senses at Paejon’s words.
“You trail off mid-sentence and send your thoughts elsewhere. Was it that impressive?”
He had even caught me. Paejon had seen through exactly what was on my mind.
“Do not be impatient. It is a power you shall learn in its entirety, after all.”
“…You show me something like that and tell me not to be impatient? That’s a contradiction.”
I knew he had shown me deliberately. In fact, that old man had likely been hoping for exactly this situation.
*‘He wants me to see it and rack my brains over it.’*
The Fifth Form. I was only just learning and refining the Fourth Form, yet he had brazenly shown me the Fifth Form before my very eyes.
On top of that,
“You even sustained internal injuries doing it.”
“...”
At my words, Paejon averted his eyes without answering. At the same time, my gaze shifted to his arm—the arm that had been holding the boulder only moments ago.
*Tremble—*
That arm was trembling ever so slightly.
*‘Good grief.’*
The sight nearly made me laugh rather than sigh. I had to force myself to hold it back.
“Did you truly have to go that far doing it? Thanks to you, chaos has erupted.”
The finale of the Martial Tournament. More duels should have followed, but the day’s matches were halted after the bout between Paejon and Dowang. The reason being that there were no dueling platforms left to continue.
*‘Frankly speaking, they could just fight on the ground, and that would be that…’*
Unfortunately, this is Hannam.
Hannam, home to the Alliance. And the host of the Martial Tournament was none other than the Murimmaeng itself. Would they start the tournament on bare ground just because a dueling platform was destroyed?
*‘Not a chance.’*
The Alliance cares more about public perception than anyone else. They would never tolerate such a shabby tournament.
*“The Martial Tournament shall resume once the dueling platform has been fully restored.”*
That was the decision handed down by the Alliance.
*‘Tsk.’*
Because of that, I found myself in an unfortunate position.
*‘My plans have been completely thrown off.’*
They were plans I had painstakingly scheduled around the dates. It would take at least two days for the dueling platform to be rebuilt. Three, at the longest. Fortunately, they had spare materials on hand, so they could manage even that. Had they not, it might have taken far longer.
*‘Those crazy bastards. Why did they insist on mixing ten-thousand-year cold iron into the dueling platform?’*
No wonder it takes so long to rebuild when they used such expensive materials.
*‘They probably thought adding it would make it unbreakable.’*
Did they ever expect it to be completely wrecked, requiring a full rebuild? Even I wouldn’t have.
Who could have known?
*‘That Paejon would be competing in the Martial Tournament.’*
Not only had the Third Venerable undergone a half-step return to youth, but who could have known he would compete in the tournament and unleash his secret technique?
*‘Honestly… it’s absurd.’*
It was a situation no one could have foreseen, and as a result, Hannam today was abuzz with talk of Paejon.
*-Successor to Paejon, Turyong Bi Uijin. Demonstrated overwhelming power against Dowang before forfeiting.*
*-A shocking victory. Was this truly a humiliation directed at Dowang?*
*-A late bloomer who had hidden his power. What, then, is the true worth of the Turyong…?*
*-The Sinryong and the Turyong. Which of the two is stronger?*
Truly, all manner of rumors were flying about. Without a hint of exaggeration, the streets were filled with nothing but talk of the Turyong and Paejon.
One of the Six Seats.
The Patriarch of the Paeng family, famed as the Guardian of Habuk, had been miserably rolled across the ground. And at the hands of the Turyong of the Seoanbiga, no less—a mere late bloomer.
No matter that he was Paejon’s successor, the idea of Dowang losing was unthinkable.
*‘No… it wasn’t a defeat.’*
It was a victory.
An utterly humiliating victory.
When Turyong cried forfeiture, I recalled the desperate expression on Dowang’s face as he screamed at him.
*‘Don’t make me laugh,’* he had cried. *‘Just kill me!’* That appearance…
*‘It was ugly.’*
It seemed a rather pitiful sight for one hailed as a King-class martial artist.
*‘Thanks to that, the trade lords have had their hands full.’*
Dowang’s reputation was crashing to the ground. The flow of the Central Plains would shift because of this. The trade lords who foresaw this would be moving frantically.
Causing a disturbance in the Martial Tournament they had spent over a year preparing. Shaking Dowang’s standing, and altering the rigid movements of the trade lords.
And all this from a single duel.
The world speaks of it thus: That Turyong’s forfeiture was a challenge to Dowang’s very standing. That while demonstrating his might, he elevated the standing of his master, Paejon, and proved his own worth.
That was what everyone thought, but…
“The forfeiture—that was real, right?”
“…*Ahem.*”
I knew the truth. That Paejon’s physical condition was currently a complete mess.
You could tell at a glance. Or more precisely, by opening the Mind’s Eye.
*‘His internal flow was completely tangled.’*
The once-smooth flow of his internal energy had become twisted. Watching him train, his external strength seemed undiminished. Which meant that while he appeared unharmed on the outside, he was a wreck within.
The reason, of course—
*‘the aftermath of Pacheon.’*
That tremendous power he had unleashed during the Martial Tournament. The recoil had struck Paejon’s physical body.
Seeing him in such a frail state… how to put it?
“…If I struck now, I might actually win… Should I smack him around a little?”
“…Huh?”
“Ah, my mistake. I meant it.”
Paejon let out a hollow laugh.
Was my remark amusing? I had been serious.
*‘I really could win if I fought him now.’*
Against the current Paejon, I felt I could win without much difficulty. That was how weakened he was.
In other words,
*‘that using Pacheon had been no easy task for Paejon.’*
Forced to use it, the resulting recoil had made him forfeit.
*‘Because he pulled it off while pretending to be perfectly fine, it must have appeared differently to others.’*
A move to humiliate Dowang.
A humiliating victory that would go down in the Murimmaeng’s history.
A Six Seat defeated by a late bloomer, and so on.
Thanks to that, Dowang was hearing no end of things from the people of Hannam.
*‘Could this have been intentional?’*
If it was that inscrutable old man, there was a good chance he had.
“If so, why do you keep harping on it?”
I replied to Paejon with a sigh.
“Did you truly have to go that far? That’s what I mean. You could have won without exerting yourself so much.”
“If I were going to do that, why bother stepping onto the stage? There has to be some fun in it.”
“You nearly kicked the bucket chasing a thrill.”
“If I died, you’d probably be the happiest man alive.”
“Ah, I suppose you’re right… ah, shit. I’m joking. Joking.”
I dodged the boulder flying at my head. Sheesh, can’t even crack a joke around here.
Just then,
“Originally, I had intended to win,” Paejon added, as if explaining the situation. “It just so happened that I thought I could show you something worthwhile, so I gave it a try.”
“Something worthwhile? You mean that Fifth Form?”
“Indeed.”
So, it had been a self-inflicted loss, all to use Pacheon.
Watching Paejon speak, I was briefly at a loss for words.
“What do you mean…?”
“Originally, Pacheon was not a martial art of that form. It was originally a technique that exploded more simply from the fist… but this time, I was struck by inspiration and attempted to refine it.”
“Refined it?”
My eyes widened. He had refined it?
Since he was the one who had created the martial art, changing it wasn’t strange in itself, but the thought of him suddenly refining it felt strangely significant.
I looked at Paejon with curiosity, and—
“The inspiration came thanks to your martial art.”
“…!”
I was greatly taken aback. Paejon had attempted a refinement after seeing my martial art?
*‘…Wait.’*
Now I thought I understood.
The martial art he said he drew inspiration from. Could it be…
“The Yeomok?”
“Precisely.”
Paejon affirmed.
The reason Pacheon and Yeomok had inexplicably felt similar.
*‘So that was why their methods were similar.’*
I had wondered why they were so alike. Did this mean Pacheon was a martial art derived from the Yeomok?
If that were the case, the question was…
“How did you succeed?”
Namely, what exactly was the source of Pacheon’s explosion?
*‘The Yeomok is based on fire arts.’*
It compresses thermal energy and generates friction through rotation. It is a martial art that detonates the force produced thereby, but the Tuapcheonmu does not possess such fiery power.
By what principle, then, did it operate?
Doubts came rushing in.
“Curious, are you not?”
As if reading my mind, Paejon spoke with a wide grin.
“Then try figuring it out.”
“Excuse me? Figure it out?”
“Indeed. In any case, I merely took the framework from your family’s martial art. It should not be so difficult to discover the answer. So try figuring it out. That is your assignment for the time being.”
“…But telling me to figure it out just like that? It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”
“Since when has my homework ever been easy?”
“...”
True. The assignments that old man gave were always terribly difficult.
And,
“This too shall help you.”
Damnably, they always had. So much so that I couldn’t even argue.
“Is it not time you attempted something of the sort yourself? Not anything else, but…”
Paejon paused, then continued.
“…for the sake of what you are *attempting*, as well.”
“…!”
At his next words, I swallowed hard. My mouth clamped shut of its own accord, and I could only stare at Paejon with trembling eyes.
*‘This man…’*
Just how much did he know?
Every meaningful word was laced with barbs that found their mark. It felt as though each syllable hid a drawn dagger.
*‘He’s truly like a ghost.’*
I couldn’t win against him.
His martial arts, and that inscrutable expression—compared to other Taoists, Paejon seemed far more the part. But not in the sense of being benevolent or magnanimous.
*‘He doesn’t feel human.’*
He lacked that distinct quality of humanness. Paejon had always been that kind of person.
As I swallowed my trepidation and stood frozen in silence, Paejon continued to speak to me.
“I shall not stop you. It is a dangerous endeavor, but you would not refrain simply because I forbade it. It is something only you—not anyone else—can do. I shall watch with great interest.”
“…Yes.”
“However.”
A murderous intent coiled around his blunt gaze.
A chill ran down my spine. Meeting his eyes sent a shiver down my back.
“Cherish your life. Remember that there is a height you absolutely must ascend to.”
“…Understood.”
That obsessive determination to carry on his martial art no matter what. That obsession was virtually all that Paejon was.
A man obsessed with martial arts.
To the point where simply looking at him made it hard to breathe.
“If you have asked all you came to ask, be on your way.”
As if aware the conversation was over, Paejon immediately issued his order to depart.
In other words, get lost.
I looked at him and asked, feigning reluctance, “No sparring today?”
“…Your intentions are plain as day.”
“What a shame… truly…”
I would have avoided sparring like the plague on any other day, but today I was determined to have a match. If not today, when else would I get a chance to beat Paejon?
So I thought, but unfortunately, Paejon did not seem inclined today.
*‘Tsk.’*
I clicked my tongue and turned to leave. I had asked everything I needed to, and having needlessly obtained an assignment to boot, I needed to get moving quickly.
At the same time, Paejon’s words came back to me.
*-For the sake of what you are attempting, as well.*
“...”
What I was attempting.
Though I was startled that Paejon had caught on, having more or less received his blessing, I felt somewhat relieved.
*‘…Now I can proceed without worrying about how he might react.’*
What I had been attempting of late.
It was none other than this:
*‘The Tuapcheonmu and the Guyeomhwaryungong.’*
I was attempting to merge those two divine arts.
********************
A day had passed since the main round concluded.
A brief time. Strictly speaking, only a night had passed, but in the meantime, countless changes had taken place in Hannam.
“Wow.”
I looked out the window and let out an exclamation of admiration.
Since the morning, people had gathered outside claiming they wanted to see the Turyong, and the area around the residence had been abuzz with noise. As it happened, several prominent families who knew that the Turyong was without a betrothed had been coming and going.
Naturally, Paejon had rejected them all with apparent disinterest, but even so, some clung persistently, adamant about not letting this opportunity slip.
And that was only natural.
*‘Because he might very well become the Supreme Under Heaven.’*
The Supreme Under Heaven.
That lofty and glorious title. A grand position that only one person in a generation could hold, and now that a young man appeared closer to it than anyone else, they were desperate to latch onto him somehow.
The other candidate, the Sinryong, was a member of Shaolin, so he was untouchable. The Turyong, however, was different. He was a figure from the relatively low-standing Seoanbiga, neither the eldest son nor betrothed.
How could they not covet him?
“You’ve become quite the popular man overnight.”
I smirked at the sight and took a sip of tea.
Paejon himself likely couldn’t care less, but seeing him suffer even a little suited me just fine.
What was it they said?
*‘The Sinryong and the Turyong will now keep each other in check, growing stronger together.’*
Haha.
How absurd to pair them together. Some fated clash of the century?
“Ugh…”
It gave me chills. Utterly ridiculous.
Seeing how quickly the Beggars’ Sect was making its moves, this too was likely orchestrated by the Alliance.
*‘Since it had blown up so spectacularly, it would be difficult to suppress. Perhaps they mean to use it to their advantage instead.’*
That wasn’t a bad thing, strictly speaking. It was simply that uncle Dowang who would be utterly ruined.
Furthermore,
“…Thanks to that, I’m rather inconvenienced as well.”
With Dowang’s standing hitting rock bottom, my own carefully laid plans had run into trouble. I needed to have Cheoljiseon and Jegal Hyeok quickly assess the situation, but I had been tied down by a guest who arrived since the morning.
*‘Hmm…’*
I set down my teacup and looked straight ahead.
A guest who had come looking for me since the morning. Looking at her, I asked,
“So.”
In response to my question, she looked at me. The hairpin securing her neatly arranged white hair caught my eye. An old woman with fewer wrinkles than her age would suggest, her face gently powdered to elegant effect.
She was none other than—
“What business does the Sect Leader of the Amipa have with someone like me?”
Bunwol Gwonseon.
That was the identity of my visitor.